


back in time through centuries

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anniversary, Canon Compliant, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: 1000 years is a very special anniversary that must be celebrated. The only trouble is that both Joe and Nicky are lost for what it is you do to celebrate a thousand years together.They turn to the experts of the world for help with varying degrees of success.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 30
Kudos: 304





	back in time through centuries

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you endlessly to [elenorasweet](https://elenorasweet.tumblr.com/) for the lookover! Title comes from Laughter Lines by Bastille.

The big day approaches, though both Joe and Nicky are well aware of it looming.

It’s impossible to ignore, being immortals with nothing but time on their hands, but they’ve been busy with jobs for the last few decades and teaching Nile. There’s also the business of Andy’s strangely reappearing immortality (and how it had seemingly been tied to Quynh) and preparing for Booker’s return to the group.

They let it get away from them, that’s all. Yet, 2099 looms only a few months away and it’s long past time that they figure out what to do.

“Are you going to ask someone?” Nicky asks, when they are sweaty and sated, collapsed in bed together. 

Joe isn’t feeling quite up to language yet. He hums thoughtfully, his fingers brushing at the cool sweat on Nicky’s bare chest. 

It’s not enough of an answer for Nicky.

“ _Yusuf_ ,” Nicky warns.

“Yes, of course,” Joe promises, voice still hoarse from shouting Nicky’s name so loudly (since Nile and Andy have been so gracious as to gift them with alone time, they’ve been good about using it). His vocal cords haven’t fully repaired yet, and Joe’s secretly smug that he’s given them such a workout. He knows they have to arrange things, but it’s very rude of Nicky to take their post-coital bliss and turn it into planning.

“It’s a very important anniversary.”

There’s Nicky, reading every one of Joe’s expressions like he knows him inside and out. He does. Tonight, he’d gotten to know plenty of Joe _inside_ , which is why he feels so damn good right now. “Nicolò,” Joe sighs. “I was there as well. It is every bit as important to me, too. I will find us our answers. You have to be kind to me. You’ve just fucked me into a state of nirvana and then you ask me to make plans for our impending celebrations. It takes a mere mortal time to catch up.”

“Ah,” Nicky teases, pinning Joe to the bed so he can crawl on top of him, “then it is lucky that you are no mere mortal.”

He goes on to prove that fact by possibly killing Joe once more through incredible orgasms, wringing pleasure out of him more times than Joe thinks he can bear. He ends up collapsing and thanking the heavens that he has immortality, because when Nicky gets in a certain mood, he needs it.

Tonight has been such a mood and Joe is ecstatic for it, even if he ends up unconscious and slumped over Nicky’s sweaty body.

Joe wakes the next morning, sees that Nicky has already gone out for breakfast and coffee, and decides there’s no time like the present to start working. He grabs one of Nicky’s baggy tourist-trap souvenir t-shirts and puts on a pair of workout leggings to mill around the safehouse, sipping instant coffee and sending off emails. 

Nicky returns in the middle of Joe’s research, cursing at him in Italian as he takes the mug of instant coffee from Joe’s hands and replaces it with an Americano without a word. 

“Thank you, dear,” Joe hums, while Nicky serves a plate of pastries to Nile along with the latte with four sugars that Nicky has been trying (unsuccessfully) to wean her off of. 

The morning routine continues around them, though at a demure hush. Andy is still asleep and they’ve long ago learned that there are few things worse than the consequences of waking her when she’s not fully rested. Joe sips his coffee and lets out a sound of victory when he sees an email has come, in one of the fake accounts.

This one is set up for Joseph al-Nasrani, a research student for medieval history. Of course, he probably doesn’t need that thorough of a background for the institute he’d emailed.

If you can even call it that.

“Success?” Nile asks, picking off chocolate chips from the scone she’s working on so she can savor them.

Joe hums thoughtfully, moving a little so she can read the answer over his shoulder. It’s not from an institute at all, but rather an etiquette column in a New York City newspaper that Joe remembers reading in the thirties. He’d always found their advice poignant and romantic, so when the subject of their anniversary arose, of course they were one of the avenues he’d walked down.

> **I’ve searched high and low to see if I’m able to find an answer, but my quest remains unfulfilled. I am eager to celebrate an important anniversary of a critical historical event that means a great deal to me. It will be 1000 years, but no one has identified what type of gift should be given to commemorate the date. I hardly think gold or diamonds will do, but I am willing to be proven wrong!**
> 
> **Sincerely, Confounded Celebrator**
> 
> * * *
> 
> Dear Confounded Celebrator,
> 
> That’s quite the anniversary you’re marking! Whatever happened in 1099 must be very important that you’re aiming to celebrate it a thousand years on. I wonder if, perhaps, you might erect a plaque to commemorate this anniversary, perhaps on the place where it became important to you. I wish you luck with your anniversary, and maybe you’ll be open to sharing some pictures after your celebrations.

Well, it’s not the answer that Joe expected to get, but it is an amusing idea, nonetheless.

It’s a shame, though, that his better half doesn’t seem to agree with the humour in the situation. Sometime in the middle of the email, Nicky has also drifted in to read over his shoulder. Nicky stares at the response with a despondency in his eyes, but Joe has been cackling since he got to the part about the plaque. Even Nile seems to be amused by the filthy implications of it all. 

“Nicky,” Joe pleads, reaching for his hands even as he tries to pull away. “Nicolò,” he croons and tries to tug him back. “Won’t you let me erect my plaque on you?”

“I told you not to write in for advice to that column,” Nicky hisses at him, pulling away. He turns his annoyed look on Nile, who tries to pretend she’s innocent though it’s far too late for that. “I am going to get us a real answer!” he shouts over his shoulder, slamming the door as he heads into the bedroom.

Joe sighs, wiping away the tears of laughter from his eyes. 

“Are you sleeping on the couch tonight?” Nile asks.

“Until he gets cold or lonely, I imagine,” Joe agrees. He should feel horrible, but he can’t. The answer had been so absolutely, dreadfully perfect. 

“Is this a legit question?” Nile asks. 

Joe understands why she wants to know. Given his amusement, it might come across that he doesn’t care about this or that he’s unfeeling, but it’s the complete opposite. Joe can think of no event more important than the thousandth anniversary of the first time he laid eyes on Nicolò di Genova and subsequently killed him.

He doubts that historians would allow him to put up a monument on the site, though Joe could always put something there that he’d know about, but it’s not the same. For a thousand years, they need something _more_. 

“It’s 2099,” he reminds her.

Nile rolls her eyes. “I can read a calendar, Yusuf Al-Kaysani,” she deadpans, sounding dreadfully like a mother (even if he can’t remember his mother’s voice at this point).

“Of course you can,” Joe agrees, knowing better than to poke the hornet’s nest. “In a few months, it’ll be Nicky and my thousandth anniversary.” Joe keeps scrolling through his email, looking for other responses. “We, of course, will need to celebrate, but neither of us know what you do when you’re marking a thousand years.”

“So you’re turning to the experts?”

“As best as we can,” Joe confirms. “You can’t tell someone that you and your husband are eager to mark a thousand years together. Your email gets deleted.”

He should know. He’d tried.

“That’s...sweet?” Nile offers, like she’s not entirely sure yet if she means it. 

It is sweet. Joe glances towards the bedroom to see that Nicky has left the door open a very telling two inches, which doesn’t mean he’s forgiven, but means that Joe has license to try and earn it. “It is,” he agrees, his gaze fixed that way. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go apologize for someone else’s advice.”

“Smart play,” Nile murmurs, and Joe’s glad that someone else understands him. 

He takes short and quick steps to lean into the doorway of their shared room, doing his very best puppy-dog eyes and smile as he leans in. “Nicolò,” he whispers. “I’ve come to make up for being such a confused celebrator. Let me in?”

Nicky reaches over to turn on the bedside lamp, revealing that he’s lounging in bed and he is very, very naked.

Grinning, Joe locks the bedroom door behind him. The anniversary plans can wait. Joe’s got some apologizing to do and he’s _very_ eager to get started.

* * *

“Come with me,” says Nicky.

Joe follows without a single question. He hasn’t asked where they’re going since the early 12th century. He trusts Nicky, which is why he follows after him through the streets of Montreal, amused when Nicky pauses at a jeweller’s shop. “Here?” he checks.

Nicky nods and heads inside, greeted by the dulcet tones of the shopkeeper asking if they’d like any assistance. Joe opens his mouth to say that he’s just browsing, but Nicky steps in front of him before he can.

“Yes, I think you can. I have a hypothetical question.”

The shopkeeper looks over Nicky like he’s debating whether to take him seriously, and _oh_ , but several things fall into place. Joe had been wondering why Nicky had put on his perfectly pressed-suit, added a gold chain (with the requisite gold saint medallion), and then affixed his most expensive cufflinks to the suit.

Even Nicky’s cologne smells of _money_ and here Joe’s been thinking that Nicky just wanted to look nice for their date.

“Sir,” the shopkeeper says, falling over himself as he hurries to Nicky’s side. “Anything you want.”

Joe snorts as he looks into the case of watches, keeping Nicky and the owner in his peripheral vision, curious to hear Nicky’s approach. 

“I am planning a very big event soon,” he says, looking sleek and elegant and like Joe is going to strip that pinstripe suit jacket off him later to fuck him. “It is to celebrate a grand total of a thousand years between many couples. I would like to know if you think that a thousand year anniversary gift is simple multiplication.”

“I…” Clearly, he’s flummoxed the owner. “Sir?”

“There will be twenty couples celebrating their fiftieth anniversary.”

That gets another laugh from Joe, but a single look from Nicky silences him into looking at the Rolex pictures. 

“Would we just take the gold you would buy for one, and multiply it by twenty? Twenty times the fiftieth anniversary, for one very big millennium celebration?” 

Joe keeps sliding along the display, trailing his fingers along the glass until he arrives at another sales associate. “Sir? Do you need any help?” the young man asks. 

“I’m with him,” Joe says, winking at Nicky. 

It makes the tips of Nicky’s ears flush red, but he keeps going on, asking for advice while looking like a million dollars. It’s smart, dressing up to earn a man’s respect, even though Joe now doesn’t want to do anything other than peel the layers off of him. He leans his hip up against the display case right in Nicky’s vision, adjusting his stance so his legs shift apart, his jeans tight across his thighs.

The owner probably thinks that Nicky is Joe’s sugar daddy or something else appallingly modern and recent, but then, Joe isn’t in the mood to dissuade them of any of those ideas. 

The conversation ends and Nicky looks disappointed when he returns to Joe’s side. 

“No luck?”

“He suggested I could buy a very big golden statue of a fifty. I thought about it for a thousand, but then, what would we do with it?” he scoffs. “It would end up in a cave with a sheet on it, and Booker will make fun of it when he returns to it, or really, Quynh will melt it down and sell it off for profit and then we will have no physical memory of it.”

Joe absently plays with the cufflinks on Nicky’s suit, letting his sympathy sound in a soft cluck of his tongue. “My poor darling,” he sighs. “You’re disappointed, aren’t you?”

Nicky doesn’t have to say anything. It’s clear by the dejected pout of his lower lip that he truly thought he could play dress-up, waltz into a fancy jewelry store, and simply get an answer. It may not have managed to get them an anniversary gift, but the lucky thing is that it _has_ done something for Joe.

“You know, they think that you’re my sugar daddy,” Joe informs Nicky, sliding his fingers up Nicky’s crisp white shirt, grabbing the gold chain around his neck to tug him closer. “Walking around like that, smelling of money,” he exhales, eyes half-lidded as he reaches his other hand down to cup Nicky’s crotch.

They’re still in public. This is probably a very bad idea.

Though, it’s also bound to both distract Nicky and cheer him up, so maybe it’s an _excellent_ idea instead. “We could always try another store,” Nicky suggests, but when he swallows, that little noise is there that means Joe is overwhelming him. 

Joe loves that little gulping click, the clearest sign ever that he’s going to get his way.

“Come on,” Joe says, and hooks two fingers in Nicky’s chain as he turns to lead him out of the store. “Let’s go somewhere that you can lavish me with all the things I truly deserve,” is pitched a little louder.

Why not play the part? 

Nicky is a _very_ handsome sugar daddy and Joe is more than happy to play the role of his doting spoiled prince. Joe glances over his shoulder to see Nicky almost tripping over his feet to keep up, and it only makes the smile on his face brighten up.

The plans for their anniversary can wait. 

It’s very important that Joe rewards Nicky for dressing up so nicely and trying so hard to find the answer for them.

* * *

It’s a few weeks later (and a few weeks closer to the anniversary) when the newest idea is crushed before it even gets a chance to get off the ground.

Literally.

Joe arrives back at the safe house to find Andy standing there with her arms folded over her chest, glaring at him in a way that has him wary of a lance. The last time she’d looked at him like that had been moments before she’d pierced him for a supposed inappropriate touch to Quynh’s body.

He maintains that he’d only been trying to help her up, the graze of his hand on her body had been an _accident_.

“I sent them back,” she says coolly.

Ah, so then, his package had arrived. 

Joe peeks over Andy’s shoulder to see if she’d allowed any of them to stay, but the front hall is barren of any shipping crates. “It cost me a lot of money,” he says absently, not trying to make a big fuss because money isn’t an issue with their ability to rack up interest, but it had been his best idea so far.

“Yusuf, you bought fireworks.”

“Yes,” Joe agrees, a romantic smile on his lips. “I thought it would be sweet. One firework for every year.”

“You bought a _thousand_ fireworks,” Andy reiterates, raising her brows like that’ll drive home her point, which Joe is still missing. “I did not get my immortality back just so you could try and blow me up with your stupid romantic gesture.”

Joe opens his mouth to ask if he could have maybe a hundred fireworks, but the look on Andy’s face suggested that he shouldn’t bother. 

“Right,” he says. “Did they say they’d refund me?”

She walks off without answering, which is probably a bad sign. Joe’s shoulders slump as he thinks about telling Nicky that they might have a _small_ dent in their finances, unless he can track down where Andy sent the fireworks.

Given her displeasure and Quynh’s presence in her life lately, Joe suspects ‘bottom of the ocean’ might be their current location, which means he’s _definitely_ not getting that refund back.

* * *

The day arrives and Joe has no plaque, no fireworks display, and Nicky has not purchased enough gold to mount an expedition. Nile and Andy have decided that the wise thing to do is to make themselves scarce. They have taken themselves on a weekend trip to Sicily, leaving the home in Malta all to Joe and Nicky.

They will return to Jerusalem eventually, but that is a different anniversary in a few years time. 

Today, it is each other they worship and not the city in which they found one another.

“There is no plaque, yes?” Nicky asks, when he wakes up the morning of their thousandth-year anniversary of finding one another (well, and killing each other, though Joe is less eager to mark that particular action). 

“I opted for something much simpler,” Joe admits, dragging Nicky by the hips down the bed so Joe can position himself at Nicky’s feet. “Today, I am going to spend the hours lavishing a thousand kisses on your body.” 

From Nicky’s throaty sound of approval, this is something that he approves of wholeheartedly. He’s still half-asleep, clearly, because he doesn’t do much more than squirm and hiss in pleasure until Joe reaches Nicky’s stomach. Grasping his hips, he lavishes longer kisses here, eagerly pulling out those ticklish little breaths of laughter he knows he can get from Nicky.

He’s on kiss number a hundred and seventy when there’s a knock at the door.

“Andy?” Joe asks Nicky warily.

Nicky is smiling in a way that suggests that it’s not her. “One moment!” he calls to the door, and kisses Joe on the lips before he grabs a robe. Joe sprawls on his back in bed, watching Nicky, not sure who it is that he’s talking to, but he steps aside for a man with a dolly and an _obscene_ number of bouquets.

It’s almost as if there are a thousand flowers in the front hallway.

Nicky sees the driver out and then turns back to spread his arms out, looking like he’s planted himself a garden to be worshipped in.

“How on earth did you manage to keep Andy from finding out?” Joe asks. 

“By not telling her at all and arranging the delivery through a new burner email,” he replies, clearly proud of himself. He plucks a peony from the nearest bouquet and approaches Joe to hold it out to him. “You may have a thousand kisses planned. I intended a thousand flowers and telling you that I love you a thousand times in as many languages as we know.” 

He really is the moon in Joe’s dark sky, the sweetest man that he’s met, and given how they met, that’s saying something.

“By all means,” Joe insists, plucking the peony to tuck behind his ear, intent on returning to his quest to a thousand kisses, pressing number one hundred and seventy one on Nicky’s collarbone. “Do begin.”

“I love you,” Nicky begins, as Joe works his way over two hundred with a slow archipelago of kisses up his neck. “ _Ti amo_ ,” is uttered at least fifty times as Joe changes directions and heads south. Nicky makes it through the range of languages (Arabic, Farsi, Romanche, French, Spanish) and Joe is only at five hundred kisses.

It is their day.

A thousand years ago today, Joe found Nicky on a battlefield, not knowing that he’d found his soulmate. Today, in 2099, Joe knows exactly what a blessing he’s found, and he intends to make sure Nicky knows just how much he’s loved, cherished, and adored. 

It is a very big anniversary. 

Joe smiles as he brushes his fingertips over Nicky’s bare chest, knowing that though the date is critically important, they’ve found a way to celebrate it that makes it feel just as weighted and special as when they looked at one another and _knew_ that their lives had changed forever. 

“I love you,” whispers Nicky, and Joe kisses his lips, cupping his cheek. He presses their forehead together, and loses himself in this man’s love.

* * *

Joe is reading the morning paper, Nicky is distributing coffee from his morning errand, Nile is at the table with the local paper, and Andy is half-asleep on the couch.

Everything is back to normal. The festivities are over and another millennium has begun. Joe has been smiling for the last few weeks, still in a romantic daze, and it takes him a moment to realize that Nile has been staring at him for the last few minutes. The pen she’s using to do the crossword hangs lazily in the air, pointing at him in a mildly accusing way.

He doesn’t _think_ he’s done anything to offend her, but it’s always best to check.

“Wait,” Nile says, like she’s only just now realized something horrifying. Joe suspects that it must have to do with Booker. “I thought you both killed each other in 1099. Are we going to have to do this in a few years to celebrate your first kiss? Or first other things?”

It’s probably inappropriate and rude to smile as smugly as Joe is, but he catches Nicky’s eye and thinks about that anniversary. 

They’ll tour the world, they’ll visit their old spots, and they’ll fuck in every one of them.

“Welcome to the anniversary life,” Andy grumbles, from where she’s doctoring her coffee to her preferences. “You just had the back luck to join us right before the millennium.”

No romance in their hearts, either of them, Joe thinks.

Luckily, it’s not them he cares about. The only other romantic that Joe gives a damn about is Nicky, and given the way he’s smiling right back at Joe, he knows that their thousandth anniversary of their first kiss, first fuck, and first ‘I love you’ are going to be everything his heart could hope for.

“Don’t listen to them, Nicky,” Joe soothes. “I’m already planning the grand spectacle of the thousandth anniversary of our first kiss.” 

Nicky raises a brow, cool and calm. 

“And what, exactly, does one do for such an anniversary?”

The twin groans from Nile and Andy are probably deserved, but as ever, Nicky only asks extremely insightful, clever questions. 

“I guess we’ll just have to find out.”


End file.
